We spent most of our live moving from a country to another. We left Iraq when I was 12 years old, and moved to Syria. My mother found a job as a sale associate in
How Being a Military Dependent Affected My Life Goals Being a military dependent is something I have known my whole life. My dad joined the Air Force in 1988 at the age of twenty-four. He initially joined the military to help people, but wasn’t sure what he wanted to do, this led him to fighting fires until 2010. I was born in the year 1999; I grew up with him working twenty-four hour shifts and then being home for twenty-four hours.
I heard Glenda tell Mom that since 9/11, she felt that John was experiencing those old urges, and she was worried that his old habits might resurface. I knew that she seemed worried about the new couple my mom invited, and I changed the subject back to the pervert. I said to Leo, “If we ever meet a three hundred pound hair lip, I’ll have you do all the talking.” “You are an asshole.” “I am what I am,” I said.
I joined the Marine Corps on 21 August 2008. My primary MOS is Fixed-wing aircraft safety equipment mechanic, KC-130. As a Safety equipment mechanic I am required to troubleshoot, isolate, and repair survival equipment aboard the kc 130J/MV-22 platforms. My back injury has occurred through cumulative wear and injuries throughout my military service, with my most recent notable injuries occurred in 2014 while setting up the tool room at Weapons Instructor Training Course in Yuma, Arizona.
Students would make fun of me but what left a laceration on my heart, mind, and soul was when my teachers would say “you will never make it” and “you are retarded”. Teachers would exclude me from activities because they thought I wasn’t smart enough. Have you ever been lost and hurt at the same time? I was hurt and lost at the same time.
“Goodman, you’re up. I hope you did well on this. It’s one of the most important events in the Persian Gulf War!” the teacher yelled. “Oh boy,” I whisper nervously under my breath.
I believe in the act of paying it forward, and treating others the way you want to be treated in the midst of it. Ever since I was a little girl, I always had a heart to help anyone that I was able to. I hated seeing others down, making it seem as if I was higher than them when I had nothing. I believed that if I was in their shoes, I would want someone to help me. Seeing homeless people on the side of the streets sad, hungry, desperate for just a bite of a sandwich or even a couple dollars to get them by for the next few days, made me realize how much I want to help people who are in need.
In November of 2014, my scout troop took a hike in the Cohutta wilderness. It was a small group, maybe 10 kids and 2 adults. Mr. Deveau, our troop leader was there, along with another scout leader, Judge Frank C. Mills. We backpacked 3 miles into the woods, stopped, and camped overnight at Breye’s field, a trail camp sight. The next morning we packed up and left.
Before moving to North Carolina, my academics were not my top priority, they were not very important to me at the time. I was not influenced by my teachers or any adults around me. They did not care enough to push me to be the best that I can be, work hard and be an active member in my school or community. Due to the lack of encouragement, I was not as responsible and focused on my academics as I should have been. My grades were not what they could have been.
It was 2005 when Greg was deployed to Iraq for the second time. How was he supposed to tell his family that he was being ripped from them yet again. How could he possibly leave Hailey, his two year old daughter. Would she even remember him when he got back? How could the country he served demand this of him again?
Transitioning to the American life as a ten-year-old child was extremely challenging. I was clueless and did not understand anything. English was painful to learn even though; I realized it must be essential to know it. Philippines was my home moreover, I missed the people, the food, and the places I have visited. School was especially a struggle to me.
Its 1914 and I just got the news that we were finally going to America! We have been waiting for several years trying to save up money and figure everything out. Going to America is almost every ones dream here in Europe. Just like Oscar Hammerston said, “ You gotta have a dream.
It took 250$ and good deeds to create some doctor like me. Growing up I was the kid who looked at the world with open optimistic eyes. I grew up in a small city called Dora located in Iraq, the middle of three girls. I was born in the late 90s, I have been told that I was born "at the end of the good days". That's when Iraq's political circumstances were not at peace at all, at 2003 another war broke in Iraq.
When I moved to America, I was never accepted. People looked at me like I was dirt. They loathed my honey colored skin. This is my story; you will learn the chainman’s side of the exclusion act. White people believed we stole their jobs.
Growing up in a diverse city, the culture around me has always been different. Every person that I see always has a different type of belief than me. I’m a 17 year old Muslim student who lives in Southeast Texas. My father is from the Middle East, and my mother is from Western Europe. My parents migrated as refugees from Croatia to Houston in 1995 due to the ongoing war in Yugoslavia.